


1938: "First Night"

by reserve, robokittens



Series: Two Boys At Play [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A+ Roommates, Barely Legal Teen Sadist Bucky, Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Shiny New Apartment Smell, The Berries Represent Sexual Desire, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's their first night as roommates and Bucky has something to get off his chest. It helps a lot that Steve's sound asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1938: "First Night"

It’s been a long day, even with all the help they had. Bucky had enlisted all of his little sisters (including Marymichael who couldn’t carry much more than a breadbox) and half the neighborhood guys to help get them moved in; but mostly it was moving everything from Steve’s ma’s place to their new flat that caused the exhaustion. Everyone was in want of a lemonade when it was all said and done, and as a special treat, Mrs. Barnes put out a big bowl of raspberries for their makeshift moving crew. Steve somehow managed to stain his whole mouth red and Bucky ribbed him for it something awful. 

“Sure do have a lotta crap for an orphan,” Albie Duncan had said as they were all clearing out of the Barnes' place, but Steve ignored him, mostly because Albie was kind of dumb, but he was also big and strong and Steve was glad he’d been willing to help out. 

They’re pretty much settled now, and even though he and Bucky don’t have much to put on the walls beyond the painting of horses his ma had cherished, it feels a hell of a lot more like home than her apartment did after she passed. They’ve got dishes and curtains and the Barnes’ beaten up cast-off couch, and Bucky’s going to head down to BedStuy on Sunday to bring back some scrap wood to cover the bathtub with. Then Steve’ll have a big old table to draw on and they’ll have a place to eat. It’s cozy, he likes it. He really, really hopes Bucky likes it too. They’ve pushed their childhood twin beds to either side of the biggest room out of their three room apartment (“Four if you count the washroom!” Bucky was really enthusiastic about the washroom for some reason), and there are two windows in their chosen bedroom to let the light in and get a cross breeze going between there and the air shaft in the kitchen. Steve imagines it might get cold in the winter, but he’s already got bags of beans sewn up to keep the chill away when the time comes. 

There’s a certain tangible newness in the air when he and Bucky head to bed that first night. They couldn't stop jostling each other in front of the mirror while they brushed their teeth, grinning like idiots around their toothbrushes, and Bucky took one of Steve's sharp elbows to the side like a champ. The whole place smells like a fresh coat of paint and the mingling scent of their possessions come together. Steve doesn't just like it, he _loves_ it. He hopes Bucky loves it. 

Except, they're half asleep, lying there in the dark as far apart as possible to keep the illusion of privacy, when Bucky says out of nowhere, “my ma's on my case already about moving out. Says it's a waste of money. She thinks I should be saving up for my white picket fence, maybe.” He laughs a little bitterly. 

Doubt wells up in Steve’s chest, he bites his lip. Does Bucky...already regret this? Mrs. Barnes always thought he was a bad influence; of _course_ she’s not overly thrilled about her only son firmly throwing his lot in with Steve, real official like even. Two names on the lease and everything. 

Steve sucks in a breath between his teeth—he doesn't make a habit of apologizing, but if Bucky wants to they can move out at the end of the month, he can find an affordable place of his own, maybe a boarding house—and just as he's getting ready to say so, Bucky continues:

“But I told her,” he says, “I told her I gotta watch out for you. If I don't keep an eye on you...who knows what you'll get up to.”

The dead serious tone of Bucky’s voice tempers any relief Steve might feel, and he freezes up a little before shifting awkwardly onto his side to get a look at Bucky.  He can barely see him in the patchy moonlight coming through the curtain, but Steve can tell that Bucky's still on his back, staring at the ceiling. There no way of knowing from here if his eyes are open.   
  
"What?" Steve says, and winces at the hitch in his voice, takes a moment to steady himself. "You think I can't make it without you?"  
  
He expects a joke, some witty retort, but there's nothing funny in Bucky's reply. "Hey," he snaps. "You're never gonna have to, ok? I'm always gonna be there for you. _Always_."

Steve should say something, he knows he should say something, say _anything_ —but he can't find the words, and the quiet that settles between them feels fraught and tingling, dangerous. Both of their windows face the street, and the city noise that drifts through the glass and place where they've left the windows cracked open makes the silence in their newly shared room all the more oppressive. 

Bucky's voice is soft when he picks up again. Liquid, crooning. "Whatever you need, Stevie," he says, singsong. "Whatever you need. Always."

"Need you to shut up so I can get some sleep," Steve scoffs, just a beat too late to be convincing. He shuffles onto his back, feels the sheets scratch against his skin. He can hear Bucky breathing.

He's just starting to drift off when Bucky says into the dark, barely audible, "You sure that's what you need?" 

Steve shifts in his bed, takes stock of his breathing. Even and low. Wills his hands to uncurl from the sheets. He's tired. He is. Hell, as far as Bucky can tell he's asleep. 

"I think, sometimes, maybe you need a little more than that," Bucky continues thoughtfully, very low. "Now, I'm not saying I know what you want..." He laughs to himself, and Steve realizes he's been holding his breath, can't exhale as hard as he'd like to now. He lets out the tiniest whisper of air, so quiet, church mouse quiet. 

"But I think...I watch you sometimes, and I think maybe you're looking for something other than a little shut-eye.

"Sometimes, the way you go looking for trouble, it seems like you're looking for someone to hold you down. Am I right? No, it's okay," he says, even though Steve hasn't made a peep. "You don't need to tell me. I could be wrong, but Stevie... I'm not gonna lie to you, pal, I got a good imagination, and you look real nice like that. I'm not even lookin' atcha, but I can picture it just now. Don't need to look, when I know every inch of you by heart. 

"Every inch, Stevie. You know that? Because like I said, I got you. And I been thinking about you, ever since your ma died and I said I'd take you in, and then damn well did. I've been thinking about you a lot. Your ma made me promise to take care of you. I told her you didn't need taking care of, not as long as I've known you and probably not ever. But I'm gonna do my best by her. By you. I'm just saying, Stevie—I don't want you to feel like you owe me. But if you wanted to…" He laughs again under his breath, so quiet. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Aw, hell. This is a terrible way to start things. I'm just saying, Stevie, if you wanted to get me back a little…for taking care of you and all. Not that you need to, but if you wanted to. I told you I got a real good imagination, and I've been thinkin' about you."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut tighter, feels his mouth shift into a grimace. 

"Like today, when you got berries all over your face like a dumb kid...I damn near had to leave the room. Couldn't stand all that red juice coloring up your mouth. Even right now, just lyin' there. I know you don't mean anything by it—you're just sleeping. But this is night one and I can already tell it's gonna be torture for me. It's like you're teasing me, just sleeping right there, because I know I could get up, get out of this bed. I could walk across the room—it's just a few steps. Get on your bed, wrap myself right up around you. I know you're self-conscious about how small you are, but I gotta say, Stevie. Seems to me like I could cover you right up, just fit myself right on top of you and keep you there. Pin your arms to the bed and keep you pressed down like you weren't nothing. And seems to me you'd like it."

He can hear the rustle of the sheets across the room as Bucky stretches, the crack of his jaw as he yawns. He can't look, but he can picture it: Bucky with his arms pulled up over his head, sheets twisted around his legs, bare torso revealed, hair already mussed. It's an effort for Steve to keep his breath steady now, to keep from shifting more than a little.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"You'd get hard, wouldn't you? I can imagine it, feeling you up against me like that. I've seen what you sleep in, and it's a bit of nothing." Bucky makes a breathy sound, and Steve's breath catches in response. "Not leavin' much to the imagination. God, but it's gonna be torment sleeping in the same room as you day in and day out. Shoulda thought about that before I paid the rent.

"Suppose I'll make it through, but it'd be easier if you stopped doing stuff to drive me wild. Or, or if I could touch you. Or— you could touch yourself." His voice dips lower, suggestive. "You could, you know. If you were awake. If you wanted to do me a favor, you could wrap one of those sweet little hands of yours around your dick. Pull some of those sweet sounds out of yourself. I'll never forget what you sound like, and I'm dying to hear it again. So would you do that, Stevie? Would you touch yourself for me?" He hums, thoughtful. Steve shivers. 

Bucky goes mute for a minute and Steve could swear— _would_ swear—that he can hear skin moving on skin, even with his shoddy hearing. Would swear that he can hear the rustle of sheets from Bucky's side of the room, see the telltale movement of an arm beneath the covers. It makes his mouth go dry. And the sound of Bucky's body fills the silence in their room, until he says, amused, maybe a little labored (unless Steve's imagining it), "not that I've seen it. Your dick I mean. Or, _well_..." 

His chuckle sends another shiver right through Steve. He's covered in goosebumps. 

"Least not since we were kids. And touching don't count." Bucky sniffs. "I'm sorry about that, by the by, 'cause I know that's not what your ma meant when she said to take care of you, but...things happen. And you needed it. I _know_ you did." The last bit tapers off into a strangled sound. 

After that, Bucky keeps quiet, but Steve stays alert until he can just make out the shape of Bucky's back arching up off the bed, until he hears— _thinks_ he hears—a muffled, satisfied groan and Bucky goes still. He waits for Bucky to turn over onto his side and face the wall, waits for his breathing to deepen, and unlike Bucky, he waits until he is absolutely, 100% positive, that Bucky is sound asleep. 

Steve licks his lips, and for a moment he imagines he can taste lingering raspberry juice. He doubts he'll ever be able to eat berries in front of Bucky again. Or maybe he'll take to eating them with gusto. He's still thinking about berries, the way they break open in your mouth, the way you can't help but get stained by them if you eat enough, when he slips a hand past the waistband of his skimpy y-fronts and takes care of himself. He keeps his breathing deep and steady as he can manage, and doesn't listen for sounds from across the room. It's only with a pang of regret that he wipes his hand off on his brand new, clean sheets.

Exhausted, he drops into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed Bucky's creep soliloquy? Follow us on tumblr: [reserve](http://reserve.tumblr.com), [robokittens](http://robokittens.tumblr.com).


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